Nineteen Years
by IcarusPhoenix
Summary: The Trio made many sacrifices to save the wizarding world. How will they save themselves, and build real lives together? This story is meant to fill the gap between the defeat of Voldemort and the Epilogue of Deathly Hallows. Rated M for creative leeway.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: That Evening**

9 May 1998

The cracked white marble tomb of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore kept a solitary vigil over the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Three quiet figures softly approached, one several paces ahead of the other two, who were clinging tightly to each others' hands. The first figure stopped beside the tomb of the departed headmaster, softly running his hand over the damaged marble, the other two keeping respectfully back. The lone dark-haired young man pulled something out of his pocket and looked into the face of his mentor, rudely exposed by Voldemort's invasion of his final resting place.

"I believe this belongs to you, sir," Harry Potter whispered, returning the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's hands. "Do me a favor and don't let it out of your sight again."

The old wizard didn't reply, nor had Harry expected him to, but somehow he knew that the Elder Wand would be safe, with the man who should rightfully have been its final and undefeated master. In the months since Dumbledore's death, Harry's feelings regarding the late headmaster had been understandably conflicted. His once unquestioned admiration of Dumbledore had been shaken by revelations of many of the mistakes that Dumbledore himself had many times referred to, having gone so far once as to point out that, as a cleverer man than most, his mistakes were "correspondingly huger".

All those bottled up emotions had been over-shadowed in an instant with the revelations that Snape's final memories had brought to Harry. Certainly Dumbledore had made errors in judgment in his long and distinguished life, but his failure to explain all to Harry was born of necessity and love, not connivance. Harry knew that he no longer had anything to prove, to anyone; he had lived up to the opinion of the one man whose opinion mattered more than almost any other.

He stepped back beside Ron and Hermione, and the three best friends pulled wands from their pockets. Harry felt more complete than he had in months, again holding the wand that was rightfully his, newly repaired in the last act of magic the Elder Wand would ever perform. Hermione had never quite believed him when he complained of the blackthorn wand's inappropriateness to him – until she was forced to use the wand of Bellatix Lestrange. She wielded that wand still, and Ron held the wand of the late Peter Pettigrew. Both had left their own wands behind at Malfoy Manor in the hurried escape that cost Dobby his life, and Hermione had never gotten truly spectacular results from Bellatrix's wand.

All three raised their wands, borrowed and repaired, preparing to cast the spell together as they had agreed, when a quiet voice spoke from Harry's shoulder. "Please not yet..."

The three battle-hardened and fatigued friends turned as one, with reflexes born of nearly a year of alternating stealth and combat, prepared to defend themselves against this surprise intruder. A small squeak of surprise emanated from the intruder, and the trio saw only a flash of red hair as their visitor dived to the ground, drawing her own wand and silently casting a very powerful impediment jinx, throwing all three backwards.

All four slowly lifted themselves off the ground, and Ron, breathing heavily, looked at his younger sister, whose features where still blazing in fury. "Bloody hell, Ginny, what were you thinking, sneaking up on us like that?!?"

"Well as you three were wrapped up in yourselves as usual," she retorted, "I can't say I'm surprised you tried to hex me just now."

Hermione, on the other hand, looked impressed despite herself; Ginny had just pulled off some incredibly difficult magic, after all. Even after watching Ginny battle some of the most powerful dark witches and wizards in the world, it was still a simple matter to underestimate the youngest Weasley. Before Hermione could say anything, however, Ginny had pulled two more wands from her robes. "I just thought you might want these back is all," she said, tossing the vinewood and willow wands to Hermione and Ron.

The pair gaped at her, looking down at their old wands in wonder, trying to figure out where Ginny had found the wands that they had left behind at Malfoy Manor weeks before. She saved them the trouble of asking. "Malfoy gave them to me; the Ministry is stripping him and his parents of the privilege to carry wands for now, so he told me to make sure those got back to their rightful owners."

She turned and started to walk away when Harry finally stepped towards her, finding his voice for the first time since she had appeared. "Ginny, I..."

He trailed off as she rounded on him, obviously holding back tears for once. They stared at each other for several long moments, afraid to speak, until she finally spoke, speaking almost inaudibly. "We'll talk later, Harry. Please?"

Confusion and pain was etched in every line of Harry Potter's face, and Ginny turned away guiltily. Harry tried again, despite the fact that he was still unable to come up with anything coherent to say. "Please stay, Ginny? I... I've missed you."

She stepped close to him, eyes blazing. "_You've_ missed _me_? That's rich, coming from any of you lot. Nine months and not a word! Nine months without seeing or hearing from any of you, and now you have the nerve to say you've missed me?" Tears had finally sprung to her eyes. "We'll talk later, Harry, whenever you three are done with whatever the hell you're doing out here."

Harry stepped back, thunder-struck at this change in her behavior. Swallowing nervously as she once again turned away, he watched the young woman he loved head back to the castle before finally turning back to his two best friends, who were watching him nervously, holding their newly-returned wands in their hands.

Harry nodded to them, unwilling to discuss what had just occurred, and the three turned back to Dumbledore's tomb and cast the spell together.

"_Reparo!_"

The white marble sealed itself, once again consigning the body of Hogwart's greatest headmaster to the ages.

The three friends, each at least magically whole again, turned towards the castle and followed Ginny's path back, ready to help rebuild the world which they had just fought so hard to save.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One: One Day Later**

10 May 1998

Harry woke the next morning with an audible groan. He had vague recollections of the night before – flashes of Bill Weasley entering the Gryffindor common room with several bottles of Ogden's, of an inconsolable George Weasley, of Ron and Hermione vanishing very early in the evening...

Taking his glasses from the nightstand, he glanced over at Ron's bed; the tall redhead wasn't there, and it was pretty obvious that the bed hadn't been slept in. In a desperate attempt not to speculate on the whereabouts of his best friends, Harry glanced around the seventh-year dorm where he slept, the very dorm where he would have spent the past eight months if he had not been somewhat distracted with saving the world. Seamus' bed was as empty and unused as Ron's, but that was understandable; Seamus was still in the hospital wing, his hard times of the past several months having only been exacerbated by several curses he received in the battle. When Lavender had fallen in the entrance hall, she had been trying to defend Seamus' semiconscious form. Lavender herself was going to be in St. Mungo's for a long time, and it was questionable whether or not the young woman would ever walk again.

Dean's bed was empty, but suitably unkempt. Like Harry, Dean had been on the lam for several months, and hadn't set foot in Hogwarts until the battle. He had, however, been staying with Bill and Fleur Weasley for several weeks, and had thus been able to get the occasional full night's sleep. He had likely left the dorm hours before.

Harry finally looked to the room's only other occupant. Neville Longbottom looked back at him blearily, also clearly nursing a hangover and probably newly wakened. The Sword of Gryffindor leaned against the wall beside his bed, its recently-polished blade glinting with the rising sun streaming through the windows. Neville had wanted to return it to the Headmaster's office the night before, but Harry had asked him to wait for morning. Now that it was all over, there were things that Harry felt Neville needed to know.

As Neville crawled out of bed very gingerly and shuffled from the room – likely to shower off the grime of the previous day-and-a-half – Harry found his mind wandering again to Ron's possible whereabouts. Shaking it off, he too tried to get out of bed, only to fall back down with a raging headache and a dreadfully unpleasant feeling in his stomach. Lying back down, he found himself trying to control an urge to vomit, though he really couldn't be certain if it was a reaction to the alcohol or the idea of his two closest friends and their possible nighttime activities.

Forcing that thought from his mind, he found the nausea didn't really dissipate, and instead he found his mind wandering to another redhead, one who was conspicuous the evening before only in her absence. For nine months, Harry's biggest source of comfort and primary motivation to defeat Voldemort hadn't been fame or necessity or vengeance; "The Chosen One" had more than enough fame, and while destroying Voldemort was certainly vindictively satisfying and absolutely necessary to the continued prosperity and safety of the wizarding world, all paled in comparison to the happiness and love of Ginny Weasley. To be able to love Ginny free from the constant fear that she would be the next person in a long list of the dead would make every bit of the pain, uncertainty, and fear of his previous sixteen years of life worth it.

Yet only hours after the very public death of Voldemort, the only woman that Harry Potter truly loved was the only person in the wizarding world who refused to look him in the eye, much less speak to him.

The irony was beyond poetic.

Thankfully, Harry was spared further contemplation by Neville's reappearance, looking even paler than when he had left only minutes before. Harry gave him a concerned look, and Neville waved it off as he collapsed back into bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he muttered something that sounded vaguely like, "I feel much better now, thanks."

Pondering that comment, Harry gingerly sat upright again, marveling over the new sensation of being simultaneously nauseated and hungry. Inspiration struck him as he glanced at Neville's pale form, and Harry softly called out, "Kreacher?"

Neville momentarily looked confused that Harry would some something so odd when a soft crack startled him, and an old hunchbacked house elf appeared in the middle of the dorm, wearing a large gold locket and looking for all the world quite pleased with himself. He bowed low to Harry. "Master called?"

Smiling weakly with his still-unfamiliar fondness for the elf, Harry took a deep breath to ward off the swooping feeling in his stomach for a moment. "I don't suppose you have something that would cure a hangover?"

Bowing again, Kreacher responded, "Of course, young Master, I have a most excellent potion. My dear old mistress was rather fond of her spirits. Would Master like me to fetch some?"

Choosing to ignore this reference to his godfather's truly insane mother, Harry nodded. "Thank you, Kreacher. If you could bring some for Neville as well," he said, motioning to the room's other occupant.

"Certainly, sir. Might I also suggest a breakfast for young masters? The potion tends to make one rather hungry."

Harry's stomach made a soft gurgling noise, and Kreacher smiled knowingly. Warding off his light-headedness, Harry replied, "If I weren't concerned with hurling all over the dorm floor, I think I'd be hungry now. A small breakfast isn't a bad idea."

"Or course, Master." Kreacher bowed one more time, and disappeared with a crack.

Neville managed to lift his head long enough to look at Harry. "You actually own a house elf?"

Harry nodded, attempting briefly to stand and failing. He winced and said, "He belonged to Sirius. He was right intolerable for awhile there, but after we started listening to Hermione about treating him right, he's become damn pleasant." Harry felt a brief stab of pain and fondness for poor Dobby, and continued, his voice somewhat tighter, "He's been working here most of the time since Sirius died."

There was another crack, and Kreacher reappeared, balancing two large trays filled with food. Harry had forgotten that the elf had no concept of a 'small breakfast'. He felt another brief wave of nausea at the mere sight of food, and could see that Neville was experiencing the same.

Kreacher ignored their expressions, setting the trays down on the bedside tables and glancing at both of them. "You will want to drink the purple potion first. I apologize for the taste, young masters, but I assure you that it will make you feel much better."

Harry gingerly took the potion in hand, shuddering a little at the appearance of it. He heard a brief retching noise coming from Neville, and threw his own potion back.

The stuff tasted truly foul. For a second, he was wondering if Kreacher had returned to his old views and had decided to poison Harry, but then he felt the unpleasant sensations in his stomach fade, replaced by a biting hunger that reminded him of how little he had eaten in the past forty-eight hours. His light-headedness and headache abated, and across the way, he could see Neville blinking in surprise. A pleasant smell caught Harry's nose, and suddenly the large breakfast that Kreacher had brought not only seemed enticing, but even perhaps a tad too small.

Grabbing his fork and stating to shovel eggs into his mouth, he had an appreciation for the drastic improvement in the elf's cooking. "Kreacher, you're truly amazing." Across the room, Neville – also with his mouth full now – mumbled his appreciation as well.

The elf smiled and bowed. "Thank you, Master Harry."

Stopping for a moment, and thought occurred to Harry. "Look, Kreacher, I'm sorry we didn't come back to the house that day. When we apparated back, we accidentally brought a Death Eater back with us. We were pretty sure it wouldn't be safe for us to be there."

Kreacher appeared unconcerned. "Of course, Master. Kreacher understands fully."

"Did any of them get in?"

The house elf smiled somewhat sadistically. "A couple of uninvited guests attempted to enter the house, but were... unsuccessful."

Neville let out a short laugh, dribbling pumpkin juice down his front. Harry smiled at the elf, and said, "Thank you, Kreacher. And thank you for coming back to Hogwarts with the elves. You were amazing. You had the choice to save yourselves, and instead you chose to fight beside us. People won't forget about it; I won't let them."

Kreacher looked almost tearful, and let out a soft, "Thank you, Master. Brave Master Regulus is avenged, and Master Harry is safe. Will there be anything else, sir?"

Harry looked at him fondly. "No, thank you, Kreacher."

The elf bowed to Neville, then turned back to Harry. "Before leaving, Master, might Kreacher inquire when you will be returning home?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't yet considered it, and it felt strange to hear Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place being referred to as his 'home'. It felt even stranger to actually have a small pang of longing for the place, as if it actually _was_ home. He contemplated a moment, then answered, "I can't be sure, Kreacher. It will be a few days, probably. There are a lot of things that need to be done here." Hermione's stern visage swam into Harry's memory, and he smiled slightly at a brief flash of inspiration. "You can return there if you wish, Kreacher, or you may remain here at Hogwarts... the choice is yours."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a look of mild shock on Neville's face at the mere notion of giving a house elf a choice, but it was nothing compared to Kreacher's expression. The old elf took a moment to collect himself, and said, "I..." He struggled momentarily over the next word - "_choose_ to stay near you, Master Harry. If you will give me a day or two in notice when you wish to return home, Kreacher would be most grateful. I would like the time to prepare the house for your arrival."

"I'm sure the house will be fine, Kreacher," Harry answered, "but if it will make you happy, of course I'll tell you in advance. Thank you."

The elf bowed lower than ever, fighting his tears, and disappeared again, leaving Neville to his breakfast and Harry to his thoughts about a certain redhead.

* * *

Some time later, both Harry and Neville left the boys' dorms and descended into the common room. Despite the absence of most of the younger students, the common room was as full as any other given Sunday morning, though as the occupants were mostly combatants who had remained at Hogwarts for the time being, the crowd was rather older than usual. Many waved or called greetings to the pair, but Harry and Neville simply made their way out of the portrait hole and started on their way towards the headmaster's office.

Clutching the sword tightly, clearly concerned for its well-being, Neville watched the expression on Harry's face. So far, he knew that Harry had taken little time for grieving, or rest, or self-reflection. Indeed, despite having defeated the man who wanted him dead more than anything else in the world, Harry Potter seemed as grim and self-destructive as ever. Unsure of how to break the silence, however, Neville merely kept up with his companion until they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the stairs to what was now Professor McGonagall's office.

"Dumbledore."

Harry's voice startled Neville, who was unprepared for the raspy quality of it. The statue moved aside, allowing access to the moving stair beyond, and Neville followed Harry up to the office and entered behind him. Professor McGonagall was not present, as she was still down at the morning breakfast, but several joyous voices greeted them from the portraits of deceased headmasters and headmistresses, and one single clear voice cut through the rest.

"Harry, and... ah. Mr. Longbottom. It is good to see you. I hear you performed a great service to this school."

Harry watched as Neville turned a faint shade of pink; clearly, Neville didn't take compliments any better than Harry himself. Looking up at the enchanted portrait of Albus Dumbledore, Neville mumbled a barely audible thanks.

Harry knew what needed to be said to Neville, most likely because it had all been said to him more than once. He also knew that it couldn't come from him; Dumbledore would be a better source of comfort for Neville, even if he was no longer more than a portrait.

"Neville?"

Neville brought his eyes up, surprised; Professor Dumbledore had never called him by his first name in life. The portrait continued. "Neville, you have never ceased to amaze yourself and exceed your own expectations. I must say, however, that your courage has never been a question in my mind. You are a brave and loyal man, Neville Longbottom, and the wizarding world owes you a debt of gratitude as great as the one which they owe to Harry." The portrait's eyes turned to the bespectacled young man standing off to the side. "I presume that is why you chose to accompany him here today, Harry?"

A sad smile graced Harry's features. "Yes, sir," he answered. "Eventually, the whole world is going to know most of it. I'll probably keep some things as secret as I can, but some people need to know everything. Considering what I asked him to do, I think Neville should be the first."

Dumbledore's image looked over his half-moon spectacles knowingly. "Yes, a wise choice as usual, Harry. I must say, you continue to be an excellent judge of character. I presume you wish to start with the prophecy?"

Sitting down in a soft armchair, Harry nodded. "I might as well start at the beginning, after all."

Dumbledore nodded as Neville sat across from Harry, and said, "Then please, continue."

Harry looked Neville in the eyes, took a deep breath, and began his tale. "Neville, you've been there for me as often as anyone, sometimes even as much as Ron and Hermione. You should know that the prophecy that we went to retrieve two years ago was about me; Professor Dumbledore is the one who saw it, and so I saw the whole thing, right here in this room." A small sardonic grimace crossed his features. "Professor Trelawney gave it, if you can believe that. That's two or three actual prophecies that she's ever given.

"The prophecy said that either Voldemort or I would have to die. The thing is, the prophecy never mentioned my name. It was made before I was born, and all it said was that parents who had escaped Voldemort three times would have a baby at the end of July, one who could defeat Voldemort, but who Voldemort himself would accidentally choose as his own opponent." Here, Harry took a deep breath, almost unwilling to finish the thought. He remembered the burden that had been placed on him by this knowledge, and even though it was over, and no longer a burden, he was reluctant to tell Neville the truth. Somehow, it felt irresponsible.

Fortunately, Neville didn't give him the opportunity. "It could have been me, couldn't it?" he said very softly.

Harry's only response was a nod, and he looked away guiltily.

"I don't think I could have handled it as well if he had chosen me," Neville said, and Harry looked up to see a thoughtful expression on his companion's face. "I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad it was you, Harry." Now it was his turn to look guilty, and he finished with a mumbled, "Sorry."

Harry looked incredulous. "Don't be sorry, Neville. You're wrong; you could have done it. You've proved that. That's why I asked you to kill that snake." He took a deep breath, and continued. "The snake was one of Voldemort's horcruxes. If you hadn't killed it, I would have never been able to beat him."

Confusion etched Neville's face. "One of his whats?"

Harry sunk back in his chair, then explained – everything. Over the next two hours, he told Neville about the night the prophecy was given, about Voldemort's birth, about the horcruxes and the hallows, and about what really happened in the forest a couple of nights before. By the end, Neville's expression was a myriad of emotions, from fear to grief to wonder. Harry was certain that Neville Longbottom was never on Hermione's list of men with 'the emotional range of a teaspoon'.

Afterwards, Neville stood silently, and walked over to the display case, replacing the sword which he had tried to steal eight months earlier. He turned back to Harry, and merely offered a hand. Harry took it in surprise, knowing that shaking the hand of Neville Longbottom was more of an honor than any of the medals, letters, or congratulations that most of the rest of the wizarding world could offer.

Neville started towards the door, but immediately turned back when he realized Harry wasn't following. Harry looked at his friend. "You go ahead. There's one more question I need to ask."

Neville nodded, knowing Harry wanted the moment of privacy. As the door closed, Harry walked back to the headmaster's desk and looked at the portrait hanging immediately over it. Albus Dumbledore smiled back at him, patiently awaiting Harry's query.

Looking about the room at the other portraits, it became obvious to Dumbledore what Harry's question was going to be. "Severus isn't here, Harry."

"Why not?" The question dropped from Harry's mouth like an accusation, and he felt immediately guilty. He had berated Professor Dumbledore enough in life. Dumbledore, however, didn't take it as an accusation, and merely answered the question.

The portrait of Professor Dippet spoke up. "He was never really the headmaster, Mr. Potter," he said. "As he was not appointed by the Board of Governors, he was never officially a holder of the office, and was considered as much of a usurper as Dolores Umbridge."

Harry looked appalled, though he couldn't be certain if this was at the Professor's statement, or the fact that he himself was defending Snape. "He deserves to be here," Harry said. "He did what he could to defend the students, and in the end, he did what you asked. He gave me what I needed to win."

Dumbledore's portrait smiled, and off to the side, he could hear one of the other portraits give a hearty, "Here, here!" to his statement. "You truly are like your mother sometimes, Harry," Dumbledore said, "and I agree. Professor Snape should be here."

Harry smiled weakly. "I'm going to see that he is. It's the least I can do for him, after what he did for me. Besides, when Neville and Luna and..." his breath caught briefly, "and Ginny broke in here, he sent them to Hagrid instead of the Carrows. I can't forget about that, either."

A knowing smile graced the features of Albus Dumbledore. "Go and find her, Harry. It's time for you to finally be happy."

"But how can I do that, sir?" Harry asked. "So many people are dead, including one of her own brothers. There's so much left to do."

Surprisingly, it wasn't Dumbledore who answered first, but the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius' great-great-grandfather. "For Merlin's sake, boy, of course there's grieving to do! But that's no reason to avoid a beautiful woman." An almost lascivious smile crossed his features. "I'm sure the two of you could do quite a bit to help each other recover."

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore interrupted. "Crude though Phineas' point may be, Harry, he is correct in the particulars. You can not hide yourself from love for long, not with a soul like yours, and you can not always protect everyone from everything."

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you, Professor... Professors." And without another word, he strode for the door, determined to face Ginny Weasley.

He didn't have far to go. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was confronted by a furious red-haired visage with her arms crossed. "How did you find me?"

Ginny pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. "I asked Neville. Do you want to explain to me why you haven't gone to visit our godson yet?"

Several things crashed in Harry's mind at once, and out of the rubble he managed to extract only one coherent question. "_Our_ godson?"

"Yes, _our_ godson!" Ginny was fuming now. "Tonks asked me to be the godmother a few weeks ago, and I've just spent the whole morning with him. You know, seeing as both his parents are dead and all."

Shame filled Harry's face. "I didn't know."

"And you never did think to ask, did you?" Ginny retorted. "Now march your ass up to the common room, Potter, and you'll find Teddy with Mrs. Tonks."

She began to walk away in the opposite direction, and Harry called out to her. "Ginny, wait!"

She barely glanced over her shoulder and said in a broken voice, "We'll talk later, Harry."

* * *

Five minutes later, Harry climbed through the portrait hole and nervously walked into the common room. Glancing around, he saw Andromeda Tonks sitting quietly in an armchair by the fire, little Teddy Remus Lupin curled up in her arms, clearly asleep. Guilt wracked Harry at this sight of the infant, and he wasn't entirely sure which bit of guilt to go with first; guilt over never asking who Teddy's godmother was, guilt over Remus' and Tonks' deaths, guilt over having never even met Teddy before, guilt for the widow sitting in front of him...

Andromeda looked up and saw him, and managed a weak, sad little smile at his presence. "Come on over here, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded numbly, gingerly walking forward to sit in the next chair over. "Just Harry, please." He was unable to look at Tonks' mother; his eyes were riveted to his sleeping godson. Teddy's hair was currently a familiar shade of flaming red; Ginny had obviously been here just before he went to sleep. Harry felt his heart clench.

"Would you like to hold him?" Andromeda's voice cut through his reverie.

Nodding again, he reached out and lifted the infant into his arms, bringing him close and rocking him gently. Teddy stirred, and his small eyes opened. Harry was shocked to see Remus Lupin's eyes staring back at him. The small child seemed to be studying Harry for a moment, and then his eyes changed from there natural brown to the flecked green of Harry's own. A small tear shed from Harry's eye; he was holding the child of the last of his father's best friends to die, and yet, at the moment, the child looked for all the world like a cross between Harry and Ginny.

"If that's not a sign," Andromeda said, "I don't know what is."

Harry looked up, unsure of what to say. "Mrs. Tonks..."

"Just Andromeda, please," she echoed.

"Andromeda," Harry began again, "I'm so sorry, I don't know... It's just... Well..." He took a deep breath and began again. "I'm sorry about your husband, and about Tonks... Dora."

Andromeda Tonks didn't even shed a tear; it was fairly clear that she had none left to shed. She laid a reassuring hand on Harry's arm, and said, "Thank you, Harry, but it was war. Ted knew the risks, and Dora died making the world safe, fighting alongside the man she loved. You know what loss is like as well as anyone. I'll manage to get by – and I have my grandson here, who I plan to raise to be as good a person as his parents." She seemed to be studying Harry's face for a moment, and then looked again at Teddy, now making little gurgling noises in Harry's arms, but with his appearance unchanged from before. "Just as you still have your friends... and Miss Weasley."

Harry was suddenly irritated. "She won't even talk to me."

The older woman simply nodded. "I know that, but give her time. Ginny is a proud young witch, but she does love you, Harry. Anyone can see that."

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, Harry handed Teddy back, and said, "I'd like to help raise him. I have a lot of money, and I want to pay for his education and help you care for him."

She smiled genuinely this time, and said to him, "Thank you, Harry. The money won't be necessary, but I think you should be involved in Teddy's life, as much as possible."

"Harry!"

Harry and Andromeda turned to see Ron and Hermione coming into the common room holding each others' hands tightly. Harry glanced back to Teddy, and Andromeda said, "Go on, Harry. Go to your friends. They need you, too."

"Thank you, ma'am... Andromeda. For everything." He stood and headed towards his two best friends when Mrs. Tonks called to him again.

"And Harry?" Glancing back, he saw her rocking Teddy back to sleep. "Remember what I said about Ginny. Don't let love slip through your fingers simply because you're afraid of it."

He nodded, and went to sit with Hermione and Ron. Maybe he could distract himself from his day by listening to them talk about theirs.

Not that he really wanted too many details.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: Four Days Later**

13 May 1998

For the next two days, Harry tried repeatedly to talk to Ginny, but every time he got near her, either something else would come up, or she would respond with, "We'll talk later," and promptly storm off.

More owls were constantly arriving with news of the rest of the wizarding world. Harry was rejecting several requests for interviews daily, though Hermione had pointed out that sooner or later he was going to be forced to acquiesce to some of them before the conflicting stories became too muddled. Elsewhere, they had heard that Kingsley Shacklebolt had sent all 'nonessential' personnel home from the Ministry of Magic, and, along with a trusted inner core of wizards and witches, was gradually conducting interviews of all employees in order to build a less totalitarian and incompetent Ministry. Of course, some personnel had died fighting, either with or against the Death Eaters, and others ― such as Dolores Umbridge ― were simply on the run.

Every day there where more memorials to attend. He had gone to as many services as he could attend; he felt somewhat obligated to properly mourn people who had followed him to their deaths, whether he had ever met them or not. Families seemed to appreciate the presence of 'The-Chosen-Boy-Who-Lived-Then-Died-Then -Lived-Again-Then-Vanquished-He-Who-Must -Not-Be-Named-With-Nothing-More-Powerful -Than-A-Disarming-Spell', or whatever the hell they were calling him now.

Colin Creevey's service the day before had not seemed entirely real to Harry. Despite being idolized by the younger boy, he had never really considered Colin a 'friend', per se. Ginny, on the other hand, seemed to be less and less stable every time he saw her. During Colin's funeral, Harry stood only feet from Ginny, though as usual she refused to meet his gaze. Even Dennis Creevey, Colin's younger brother, seemed far more stable than Ginny.

Demelza Robins' memorial was even harder. Again, Harry barely knew her, having only been the girl's quidditch captain the previous year. All he knew was that Demelza had only turned seventeen the week before. Thus, Harry again watched his ex-girlfriend, whom he knew was extraordinarily close to Demelza, having roomed with her for the better part of six years. Ginny seemed to be growing positively catatonic by this point, and others were beginning to question Harry about it. He had yet to form a coherent response, and was typically saved by Hermione, who would jump in and answer, "Ginny will be just fine. She has her own ways of dealing with grief, just like the rest of us." In private, however, Hermione too would throw extremely worried looks towards her younger friend.

Some of the funerals simply made Harry feel guilty. Oftentimes, he hadn't even known that the deceased were present for the battle, or he hadn't known that they had lost their lives until their memorials were announced. Susan Bones came as a shock to him. He tried to say something consoling to Susan's mother, but it was hard to console a woman who had lost her sister, her husband, and her daughter, all in fewer than two years.

At Zacharias Smith's funeral, he was shocked to see how blatantly the Hufflepuff colors were represented, and looking at Smith's somewhat gaudy family tomb in the Yorkshire village of Upper Flagley, he was even more shocked to see the name 'Hepzibah' emblazoned among all the others on the marble. 'Smith' was such a common name in the muggle world that it had never occurred to Harry that there was only one Smith family in all of wizarding Britain.

During the reception after, Harry apparated back to Hogwarts and immediately ran up to his trunk in Gryffindor tower. Several minutes later, he returned to the service clutching Helga Hufflepuff's cup, which he presented to the weeping parents of his least favorite member of Dumbledore's Army. It took him over thirty minutes to explain the damage, with more than enough interjections in the story from Ron and Hermione. He decided it would be best not to tell them yet that he possessed Slytherin's locket as well, which Voldemort had also stolen from the murdered Hepzibah Smith decades earlier.

Other funerals, like those of Professors Grubbly-Plank and Sinistra or of Terry Boot, were only slightly easier for Harry. He still felt a certain amount of guilt for their deaths, but felt less grief, as he barely knew them. Of course, he felt even more guilty for the for the lack of grief.

Mary Cattermole's funeral caused enough guilt that Harry was more than thankful when it was over so that he could escape the pain. Her husband Reg had indeed been captured at the Ministry all those months before, and had died in Azkaban. His wife had arrived in the second wave of defenders who followed Charlie Weasley and Horace Slughorn into battle, and she was killed almost instantly; the poor woman had never trained for combat, and now her three children were orphans, but without even Teddy's support system. They were being sent to an orphanage by the Ministry. Harry found himself more enraged at the dead woman than anything for abandoning her children.

The biggest surprise death to Harry had been Theodore Nott. When Harry had first read the name of the weedy-looking Slytherin among the dead, he was sure that the boy had been placed on the wrong side; Nott's father was a Death Eater, and Harry just assumed that the son had joined Voldemort's legions as well. It came as a shock to all that the seventh-year Slytherin followed his head-of-house back to the school and had begun a duel with his own father, who was the superior combatant. The elder Nott was one of the few Death Eaters who had escaped, and was now on the run. Theodore Nott's funeral was one of the best attended yet, and Harry found himself sitting rather uncomfortably beside a sullen Draco Malfoy.

Harry awoke on the morning of Remus and Tonks' memorial service feeling decidedly empty. He all but ignored the large breakfast provided by Kreacher, who had begun to bring meals for the entire seventh-year boy's dormitory whenever they desired to avoid the Great Hall ― including Seamus, who was now returned from the hospital wing. Ron, of course, was perfectly happy to finish what remained of Harry's share, though he looked at Harry concernedly the entire time. Harry was certain that for once in Ron's life, he wasn't actually tasting the food entering his mouth.

As Harry lethargically pulled on his dress robes for the third day in a row of seemingly endless funerals, his mind reflected back to the day that Lupin had first spoken to Harry about his parents, or Tonks' feeble attempts at packing spells, or the day when Dumbledore died, and Tonks ending the evening by shouting at Remus that age and money didn't really matter where love was concerned. A smile flickered across his face before being crushed by and image of thee last time he had seen Tonks alive; shooting curses out a window, crouched beside Ginny Weasley.

Harry already knew that this memorial would be the hardest yet for him. This time, it wasn't a casual acquaintance, or someone whom he hadn't even met, but two people who had a profound impact on Harry's life, two people who were as close to actual family as anyone else in his life. He also knew that it would only get worse. Fred Weasley would be buried tomorrow, and the day after that came the funeral Harry was dreading more than any other; Severus Snape.

Ron touched Harry's arm, shaking him from his reverie, and the two headed down to the common room, where they were joined by Hermione. Hermione and Ron hugged each other tightly for a moment, and then Hermione disengaged from her boyfriend and pulled Harry close. He felt listless, his head falling to her shoulder. He still was unable to shed a single tear, but something about Hermione's embrace caused his heart to wrench in two, and his entire being shuddered in mourning.

A small voice interrupted them. "We'd better get going; McGonagall will have the portkeys ready by now."

If possible, Harry's heart crumbled even more at how lifeless the voice sounded. Ginny's long red hair swept into view, and Hermione stepped away. Taking Ron's hand, the pair led the way out of the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall, where the rest of the mourners were waiting to depart.

A small hand grasped his and squeezed, pulling him out towards the corridor. For the first time ever, Ginny's hand seemed cold and lifeless, almost as dead as Dumbledore's had been the year before. But still, her touch felt heavenly in its own way. For the first time since the battle, it wasn't, "We'll talk later." There was just an unspoken agreement; the pair needed each other today.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the quartet spun into view in the cemetery of Godric's Hollow, clutching between them ― of all things ― a Death Eater's mask. Professor Flitwick had quite rightly stated that the things were no more than rubbish anyway, and as such were useless as anything except portkeys. The irony seemed to delight everyone.

Tossing the mask into the pile of used portkeys, they made their way across the well-kept grass towards the white marble marker now so familiar to Harry. As he and Hermione led the other two towards the small cluster of people gathering at the empty space beside his parents' grave, Harry found himself immensely grateful that the other two were here this time. This day was going to be hard enough as it was.

They approached the other mourners, and Harry felt Ginny's hand slip back into his. Somehow, he got the impression that she was trying to be brave for him. To the left of James and Lily Potters' grave rose a new stone, cut from the same white marble.

REMUS JOHN LUPIN   
Born 10 March 1960   
Died 8 May 1998

NYMPHADORA TONKS LUPIN  
Born 4 February 1973  
Died 8 May 1998

_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._

Harry thought it fitting that their grave mirrored his parents' so well, with the exception of the quote which Harry himself had chosen. For the first time in days, he was certain that something akin to a smile passed the face of George Weasley, however fleetingly. It would have seemed fitting to all of the Marauders. What was even more fitting was what stood to the right of the Potters' grave.

SIRIUS BLACK  
Born 12 November 1959  
Died 16 June 1996

_Mischief Managed._

The second marker was simply a cenotaph; there was no body of Sirius to bury, but Harry felt it important that Sirius have a memorial somewhere, and beside his closest friends in life was the best place for it. He knew that his father and Remus would agree; Sirius too, for that matter.

The four found themselves standing in the front row, near the officiating wizard and only feet from the two caskets. Thus far, Harry had managed to keep himself at the back during any memorial, and Ron and Hermione joined him. They all figured ― quite rightly ― that they drew enough attention these days as it was. This time, however, they were as good as family to the deceased, and stood right beside Andromeda Tonks, who was holding a blue-haired Teddy.

After sitting through over a dozen other services in only two days, Harry realized with a jolt that he still hadn't been able to recall a single word out of the officiating wizards and witches' mouths. Just as at Dumbledore's funeral almost a year earlier, Harry found the words insufficient, anamitronic, and damned unmemorable. He would later discover that even Hermione was unable to recall more than snippets of the ceremonies.

Beside him, Ginny stood stone-faced; there were no tears this time. She just stared at Tonks' name emblazoned in stone for all eternity, her grip becoming looser in Harry's hand until her arm just fell limply to her side. To her right, Hermione clutched Ron tightly, her body shaking.

Standing where he was, Harry had some trouble seeing the rest of the attendees without turning around, but from what he could see, the entire Order of the Phoenix, the whole surviving Auror division, and a large percentage of Remus Lupin's former students were present, along with other friends and colleagues. Harry wondered if this spot had as many people present for his parents' funeral almost seventeen year earlier. He doubted it, but the thought was certainly comforting.

Then, almost as soon as it began, the ceremony was concluded, and people were dispersing. Harry just continued to stand there, unsure of what to do, when finally Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You alright there, mate?"

The raven-haired young man turned to see the uncharacteristically concerned expression on his best friend's face. He also noticed that they were alone.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, "and..." For some reason, he couldn't bear to say Ginny's name.

Ron seemed to understand, and motioned behind him. "They already walked back to the portkey. Come on, they're waiting on us. The reception is back at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, and they started to walk that way when he came to a sudden halt. "Hold on a sec, Ron," he said. "There's something I need to do first."

He walked back and looked at all three marble monuments while Ron stood patiently by. Finally letting a few tears shed, he said softly to the ground, "I'll be back. I promise."

* * *

A few minutes later, Harry found himself and his three companions back at Hogwarts. Ginny immediately detached herself from the other and headed away from the Great Hall and the reception within. Harry caught her arm as she went past, and she spun towards him. He took a step back; her eyes seemed cold and empty. When she spoke, her voice sounded more strained than he had ever heard it.

"We'll talk later, Harry."

She pulled her arm away and headed towards Gryffindor tower, ignoring completely his calls at her back. After she had turned the corner and vanished from sight, he gave up and sulked into the Great Hall. Immediately accosted by Ernie MacMillan, he found himself nodding in response to a conversation that he couldn't even hear. Several minutes later, he found himself passed off to Hannah Abbott, and then Percy Weasley, who was saying something about an awards ceremony that Harry completely failed to listen to. Finally, he extricated himself and made his was towards Ron, who was, as expected, hovering over the buffet table. Ron's reactions to any given situation were predictable enough; get a snog from Hermione, eat; argue with Hermione, eat; get chided by Mrs. Weasley, eat; save the world, eat; mourn fallen comrades, eat.

"Finally get clear of your adoring fans, there, Harry?" he asked as soon as he looked up and saw the savior of the wizarding world beside him.

Looking about distractedly, Harry said, "Yeah. Um, where's Hermione?" It occurred to him that this was the first time in days that he had seen one of them without the other.

Ron briefly appraised Harry before deciding that honesty was probably the best policy in this situation. "She went to check on Ginny."

Harry felt immediately guilty, and looked at his feet, responding only with a soft, "Oh."

"Maybe I don't want to know," Ron said, breaking the awkward silence, "but what's going on there, anyway?"

Harry swallowed nervously. "Come on, you've been there. She won't even talk to me!"

"Hunh," muttered the redhead, taking a bite of a drumstick and then using it to gesture at his closest companion. "What did you do?"

"How the hell should I know?" Harry burst out, a little louder than he meant to. A few heads turned their way curiously.

A brief moment passed in which Ron seemed to be pondering something. After a pause, he asked, "But today at the funeral, she was holding your hand most of the time?"

Harry nodded, again nervous. "I know. I don't get it." He looked up to realize that their conversation was beginning to attract more attention than he wanted, and Ron only seemed to be getting more suspicious. "Look, Ron, I can't deal with this right now. I'm going to get out of here for a bit, ok? I'll see you later."

Without waiting for a reply, Harry made his way out of the Great Hall and up towards the common room, nodding only half-heartedly to greetings along the way from Nearly-headless Nick and Luna Lovegood. He finally made his way through the portrait hole and nearly ran up the stairs to hide in his dormitory.

His plan did not go as smoothly as he wanted it to. Barely had he entered when Hermione came sweeping into the room, leading a sullen Ginny, who clearly had no inkling of their destination until she looked up to see Harry standing in front of her.

Jerking back, Ginny just had time to say, "Just wait a minute, Hermione..." before being propelled forward by her friend, collapsing unceremoniously into the arms of her ex-boyfriend, who instinctively reached out to break her fall.

The bushy-haired brunette had her wand out and pointed at the two. Eyes blazing, she said loudly, "Guess what, Ginny? 'Later' is going to happen right now. I'm tired of you two trying to destroy each other." Without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. On the other side, the two occupants of the dormitory heard he shout, "_Colloportus_!" followed by a squelching sound coming from the door. They knew they were sealed in for now, and like it or not, they had no choice but to discuss their issues.

Of course, that wasn't exactly something either had prepared for. For some minutes, the two simply stared at each other in a mix of fear, emotional pain, and longing.

Finally, Ginny could no longer take the silence, and softly asked, "Why did you do it Harry?" Her voice was accusing, and she refused to meet his eyes.

"Do what?" Harry demanded. His mind was racing, trying to come up with what he might possibly have done. For the life of him, he couldn't come up with a single slight against her, and it really was beginning to feel like his life was indeed what was at stake.

The next thing he knew, Ginny's eyes had lifted from the ground, the blazing fury directed at him as her voice grew progressively louder. "What? What did you do? I'll tell you, Harry James Potter!" Her entire face was red now, and tears were beginning to spring from her eyes. "Why did you avoid me the entire wedding only a day after I practically threw myself at you? Why did you leave without a word? Why did you completely fail to contact me or anyone else in eight fucking months to tell us you were ok? And why, for the love of Merlin, did you, of all people, the one person who I thought might understand, why did you try to lock me up in the middle of a battle in which everyone and everything I ever cared about were on the verge of complete destruction?"

The room actually seemed to be getting hotter as she went on, and tears were now streaming unabashedly from her eyes. Harry had never seen Ginny cry quite like this before; in fact, he had never seen _anyone_ cry quite like this, but since it was Ginny who was doing so it was far more disconcerting. He was still complete rubbish at dealing with sobbing women, and the fact that he was quite obviously the cause of her anguish didn't help in the least.

His stunned silence seemed to irritate her even more, and she screamed at him, "Answer me!"

Harry felt like his lungs were constricted, and he managed to stammer out, "I couldn't lose you. You were safer..." He already knew that it was a losing argument, but that didn't stop him from trying to say the same thing he had for months.

A cruel laugh escaped her, and he felt a pang of something he couldn't describe; the last time he had heard that particular cruel sound from her, it had been directed at an over-protective Ron, whom she promptly tried to hex. The beast inside Harry's chest howled in anguish.

"Safe? You think I was safe here? Watching my entire world collapse around me? Getting tortured every few days? Not knowing where you or Ron or Hermione were?" He voice was quieter, and mercilessly cruel. Harry felt his heart breaking with every single word, but still she pressed on. "All I wanted was to be right next to you, wherever you were, and then when I finally do see you, your first act is to try to keep me from fighting, like you didn't think I could take care of myself."

Harry too was sobbing now, and his words came out haltingly, barely audible. "I wanted you to be ok. Why can't you understand that? Why did you insist on putting yourself in danger over me?"

"Because I love you, you blithering imbecile!"

As soon as she screamed these last words, Ginny's hands flew over her mouth, and her eyes widened in terror. Neither of them had dared to utter those three words before, no matter how much they longed to, and now, in the midst of trying to outshout each other, they slipped out of Ginny without reservation.

Stunned silence reigned for several seconds, but the argument seemed to have collapsed at that moment. Within seconds, Harry crossed the room in two strides, lifted her into his arms, and kissed her, unable to hold back any longer. Both of them were sobbing, their entire bodies shaking in each others' arms, and Harry was muttering repeatedly between kisses, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

After what seemed like several moonlit nights, they pulled apart, but they still had their arms wrapped around each other. Ginny's tears had ceased, but they had left tracks across her cheeks. Harry still couldn't stop his own tears, though they had slowed to more of a steady trickle than the flood he had endured before.

Ginny reached up with one hand and wiped the tears from one of his eyes, and said softly, "I understand why you left, Harry, I do. I know why you wanted to keep me safe. But trying to keep me from fighting once the battle actually came, and trying to keep me from defending the man I love... you should have known better. I couldn't face you after that. It hurt too much."

He did his best to hold her gaze, the shame burning inside him. He didn't want to let her go, for fear that she might leave again. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice soft enough that even six inches away Ginny had to strain to hear him. "I love you so much."

It was the first time he had said it, and the instant the words left his mouth, he felt something warm inside him that wasn't shame. The beast in his chest seemed to stretch out contentedly, and he saw Ginny's lips again move towards his.

They touched, and Ginny spoke to his lips. "Seeing you dead killed me too, Harry,"she said. "I fought Bellatrix because I knew she would kill me, and then I could be with you. If Hermione and Luna hadn't come, I would have died, just to be with you."

Harry felt more tears fall, though the pair were now so close that he couldn't be sure who shed them. "I won't leave you again, Ginny," he muttered, kissing her. "You're all I could think about, the whole time. I did this all for you, and now it's over." Their lips locked again, and no more words were needed.

In the middle of the kiss, he felt her hands caressing his back, and a shudder ran down his spine. He felt his shirt come off, and her fingers were caressing his chest, in what he was sure was the shape of an imaginary dragon. His hands were entangled in her hair, and he felt her free hand grab one of his, moving it slowly downward towards her breast.

Harry pulled back briefly, startled at her brazenness, but one look in her eyes was all he needed, and in seconds, Ginny's shirt and bra were off, and the two were lying on the bed, Harry's hand playing at the soft flesh of her breasts, and her hands fumbling with his belt...

A loud thud and an angry shout interrupted them, and Ron's voice cut through their reverie. "What in the hell do you think you're doing to my sister, Potter?" A curse was fired, and Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as it missed him by inches and slammed into the wall behind the couple.

Harry tried to get out of bed and go for his own wand, but only managed to stumble on the edge of his own pants and fall to the floor. Before falling out of sight, he caught a brief glimpse of his best friend's furious visage silhouetted in the doorway. Ginny meanwhile did have her wand out, and was standing between the two boys, in far more of a fury than before. "Get out of here, Ron! Don't you dare try and 'protect' me from the man I love!"

"Love?" Ron shouted, doing his best to ignore that his only sister was standing half naked in front of him. "Is that what you think this is?" He motioned at Harry, now standing there in only his underwear with his wand drawn on his best friend, entirely unsure of what to do. "I told you not to take advantage of her, Harry, and then I find you like this?"

He looked easily enraged enough to cause both of them a certain amount of harm, and Harry was trying to get around the bed to stand beside Ginny. He saw a small flicker of movement from Ron's wand, but no spell came out. Instead, a new voice shouted twice in rapid succession, "_Expelliarmus_!" and then Hermione was there, holding her own wand in front of her, and the wands of both Weasleys in her other hand.

Ginny looked about ready to say something, but was silenced by a furious look from Hermione, and instead opted to step back and grab Harry's hand. They watched as Hermione turned her fury onto her own boyfriend.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! How _dare_ you come in here and try to keep them from each other! Don't you know what being apart has been doing to them? Don't you care about either of them?"

"This is hardly just 'making up', Hermione," Ron shouted, gesturing at the other couple. "Look what he was doing to her!"

Again Ginny looked ready to scream at her brother, but Hermione's own shouts cut her off. "You filthy hypocrite!" Harry blinked, immediately realizing that there was more to Ron's absences from the dormitory than he wanted to know about. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't about to be given the choice not to listen.

"Where did you sleep last night, Ron?" Hermione asked angrily. "In whose bed have you been sleeping for the last _four nights_, Ron?"

Ron stuttered, meekly trying to respond, "But that's not..."

"_Whose bed_, Ronald?"

The redheaded young man stared at his feet. "Yours, Hermione."

Again there was and uncomfortable silence, finally broken by Hermione. "Exactly. You think that we can express our love that way, but they can't? Are you 'taking advantage' of me, Ron?"

Again a spluttering noise came from Ron, and he choked out, "What? No! You... I... It was your idea!"

"Exactly." Hermione now had her arms crossed, a satisfied expression of victory gracing her features.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny watching Hermione with an impressed gleam in her eye. Neither she nor Harry were planning to interrupt Hermione's spirited defense of their relationship.

Ron tried to regain some of his ground. "But she's too young!"

"Bullshit!"

The other three spun around, surprised that it was Harry who interjected. He wasn't about to back down, though. "You can sleep with my sister, but I'm not allowed to sleep with yours? That's fucked up, mate. What my girlfriend and I do is no business of yours, no matter what relation she is to you."

Ron clearly had no rejoinder, and everyone knew the discussion was over; no one was about to question anyone's love for anyone else in the room, and, despite the shouting and the hexes, it seemed that, rather suddenly, every member of the quartet finally knew where they stood.

Finally, Hermione's voice broke the silence with a question. "Sister, Harry?" She was looking at him with a mixed expression of awe and joy.

Harry shuffled his feet nervously. "Well, yeah, I mean, that's how I've looked at you for years. Ron knows that." Harry decided it was best not to mention the words of the locket horcrux, which had been responsible for that particular conversation between him and Ron.

Hermione practically leapt at him, throwing her arms around him joyously. Behind her, Ron smiled, and then looked at Ginny, who was still regarding her brother with an expression of what could best be described as irritated diffidence. He swallowed nervously and said, "Look, um, Ginny, I was out of line. I'm sorry."

His younger sister nodded her head in forgiveness. "It's fine, Ron," she said, "You've always been a little too protective of me, but I'm old enough to make these choices. Besides," she added, "it's _Harry_ we're talking about here. You know what he means to me."

Her brother nodded vigorously, glad that she was no longer about to rip his throat out, then glanced at Harry and Hermione, still hugging each other happily. Addressing Ginny, he said, "Yeah, well... Sorry." Gesturing to the others, he said, "I'd hug you, but, um..." He averted his eyes, and motioned at her torso, reminding her of her current state of half-undress.

Ginny finally remembered that she had no shirt on. She made no motion to cover up, but she did have the good grace to blush a little; the last time her brother had seen her chest, they had been small children, and she rather lacked breasts at the time.

"Um, hello?"

The nervous voice at the door startled everyone, and Hermione moved let go of Harry, exposing a view of Neville standing in the doorway. At the sight of Ginny's exposed breasts, he let out a started noise, and immediately averted his gaze, turning several shades of red.

"Did I come at a bad time?"

* * *

The next day dawned misty and cold. Though the dreariness that had dominated the past couple of years had almost entirely dispersed with the flight of the dementors, it was somehow appropriate that the morning of Fred Weasley's funeral should be so lacking in humor.

In Gryffindor tower, however, the dread of the coming day was greatly lessened for Harry Potter, who opened his eyes to see a stunning mass of red hair spread out over his chest. As he took a breath, Ginny stirred and lifted her head, looking him in the eyes and smiling sadly. She had been dreading this day more than any of the ones previously, but thanks to Harry, she was still going to be better able to face it than she had the previous three days.

The other beds in the seventh-year boys dormitory were empty, though aside from Ron, Neville was the only one of Harry's roommates who knew about Harry and Ginny's reemerged relationship. Neville had rather cleverly convinced Seamus that they should restore the Room of Requirement to its previous incarnation as headquarters cum barracks for Dumbledore's Army, and Seamus in turn had convinced Dean to join them. Ron, meanwhile, was still sleeping in Hermione's dormitory, which was also otherwise empty; Parvati and her sister had returned home ― though they were apparating daily to memorial services ― and Lavender was going to be in St. Mungo's for the foreseeable future.

Harry felt Ginny's arms tighten around him, and she muttered a soft, "Morning, Harry."

He planted a kiss on her lips, marveling in the joy of it, and helped her to stand up. She climbed out of bed and stretched, very catlike, then turned to see Harry staring at her with a particularly goofy smile on his face. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Enjoying the view, Potter?"

Much to her surprise, Harry didn't even blush, but merely stood from the bed himself, equally unclad, hands on his hips in an expression of defiant confidence. "I don't know," he replied, "are you?"

His girlfriend giggled at him, then swatted his arm and started her search for her clothes. Harry plopped unceremoniously down on the bed, looking a tad forlorn. "Going somewhere?"

Ginny ― now clutching her shirt in one hand and a sock in the other ― glanced back at him over her freckled shoulder. "I'm sorry, love, but I think it would be a good idea to slip out of here before my parents woke up and came snooping about the tower, don't you? It would be terribly unfortunate if you survived Voldemort for nearly seventeen years only to be murdered in your bed by the wrath of Molly Weasley."

An unwitting chuckle escaped Harry's lips, and he replied, "I guess Ron was wrong." At her questioning look, he crossed his arms in mock irritation and did his best to sound hurt. "_You_ took advantage of _me_."

She straightened up, hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised, and swept her eyes over Harry's body in an appraising look. Looking supremely defiant, she answered, "Well, yeah. I mean, who wouldn't?"

Both of them stared at each other for another couple of seconds, and simultaneously collapsed into each others' arms in fits of laughter. Between giggles, Ginny leaned close to Harry's ear and whispered, "But they'd better not."

* * *

Some time later, Harry entered the Great Hall at Ron's side. Several paces behind them, Ginny and Hermione where whispering to each other excitedly. The two young men shared a look that spoke volumes; neither wanted to know anything about the conversation behind them, especially after they heard Ginny say something that sounded suspiciously like, "But Ron? That's just gross, Hermione."

They joined the other Weasleys at the Gryffindor table. Kingsley had released Percy and Arthur from conducting interviews at the Ministry for the next couple of days so that they could bury Fred, and with Charlie still in the country for the foreseeable future and Bill and Fleur having been laid off in what the goblins at Gringott's were deeming a 'reorganization', the family were all there.

George had nothing on his plate; he just stared blankly at the far wall. Ginny and Ron shared a slightly ominous look, and then pointedly sat on either side of their brother, doing their best not to look like they were keeping an eye on him.

As Harry sat next to Ginny, he took her hand under the table where no one could see it; they had decided that this was hardly the best time to tell the family about their relationship. Nonetheless, Arthur Weasley smiled at Harry as warmly as any man could on the day he was to bury one of his children, and asked, "Did you sleep well, Harry?"

Caught somewhat flatfooted, Harry stammered out an unconvincing, "Yes, thank you," before helping himself to some toast with his free hand. Ron threw a slightly nervous glance at his best friend, and Harry nodded surreptitiously. They were both fairly certain that Mr. Weasley, at least, wasn't entirely ignorant of the previous night's sleeping arrangements. Judging by the oddly pleased look that Fleur was casting at Ginny, it was probable that she wasn't, either.

"Hiya, Harry." Seamus Finnigan came up behind him, holding out a copy of the _Daily Prophet._ "Got a present for you." Behind him, Harry could see Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom grinning. Taking the paper, Harry scanned the lead article, and the Weasleys all heard a triumphant, "Ha!" escape his lips.

Questioning looks were cast his way, and Ginny glanced over his shoulder. A somewhat sadistically gleeful smirk passed her expression, and she answered for her boyfriend. "They caught Dolores Umbridge."

Several silent motions of victory were made by the Weasleys, but it was George who spoke, quipping, "Lovely day for it." However, his voice sounded dead, and he didn't look up once.

Despite this, those who had been there smiled fondly at the memory of Fred and George flying out of Hogwarts on their brooms, leaving Umbridge standing in the middle of their portable swamp. Percy, however, asked, "Where did they find the cow?"

There were almost unanimous and strangely synchronized blinks at the normally-formal Percy's description of his former co-worker. Ginny scanned the article. "Um, it looks like she'd made it as fas as Australia before..."

A high-pitched noise interrupted Ginny's narration, and there was a blur of brown hair as Hermione threw herself from her place beside Ron and tore the paper from Harry's hands. She was deathly pale as her eyes scanned the article, and Harry remembered with a jolt that Australia was where she had sent her parents, having placed false memories in their minds that convinced them that they were not the Grangers, parents of an extremely talented witch, but were instead the childless Wendell and Monica Wilkins.

When the article showed nothing, she threw down the paper on the table in frustration and began to pace, ignorant of the attention she was drawing to herself. Bill leaned forward and glanced at the front page, quietly asking, "Why Australia?"

Again, it was Percy who answered. "A few weeks ago, there were reports that several muggleborns were hiding there."

Still looking at his fretting girlfriend, Ron said ominously, "Not just muggleborns, but parents too."

Comprehension dawned on the family as Hermione ran from the hall. Ron and Ginny both made to follow her, but Harry was up first. "No, stay here. I'll go." His eyes darted towards George, and the other two understood; they should stay with their mourning brother.

Harry found Hermione sitting halfway up the staircase, legs clutched to her chest, occupying a niche that once held a suit of armor. Like so much of the castle, this particular piece of armor was still not back in its rightful place. Harry knelt beside his friend, lifting her chin so that he could see her eyes. She hadn't been crying, but fear glinted there. When she spoke, she sounded like a terrified little girl again, and not the powerful and confident woman Harry had grown used to over the past several months.

"Harry, what if she's found them? I sent them there, and they don't even know who they are."

"Shh, calm down, Hermione," Harry said. "Ron and I are literally the only people in the world who know where your parents are. Come to think of it, we don't even know that. Australia is a pretty big place."

Hermione didn't really look comforted by this; If anything, she looked somewhat more frightened. "That's the thing, Harry! I don't know exactly where they are, either!"

He nodded his understanding. "I know, but you did the right thing; they couldn't stay here, and you knew that." Sitting down beside her, he threw an arm around her and drew her into an embrace. "Look, after the funeral, contact Kingsley Shacklebolt, ask him for some more details, and see if he can't get the Australian Ministry to start looking for your parents. Then in a couple of days, we'll go down there and bring them home, ok?"

She smiled weakly at him, nodding. "You know," she said, "sometimes, you're pretty intelligent, Harry." Straightening, she looked down at herself, as if making sure that she was still presentable. "By the way," she said, "I don't think you should come with us."

Harry was stunned; after she and Ron had sacrificed everything to follow him, did she honestly think that he wouldn't willingly follow her on something this important? Catching his expression, Hermione immediately realized her mistake, and began to shake her head emphatically. "No, no Harry. I didn't mean it like that. I was just wondering if you shouldn't stay with Ginny."

Sighing with relief, Harry laughed. "Are you kidding?" he said. "When I said, 'we'll go down there,' I meant Ginny, too."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure Mrs. Weasley will like that idea much."

Harry mirrored the expression. "Do you really think that Ginny will give her a choice in the matter? Or me either, come to think of it."

The bushy-haired brunette beside him laughed, and Harry felt a wave of relief at the sound. She elbowed him gently and said, "I doubt Ginny's going to give you the chance to run off without her ever again, actually."

Harry allowed a moment of contemplation, then nodded once. "I think I'm ok with that." A sudden thought occurred to him. "We can't ask Ginny to go."

Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Why not?"

Gesturing at the walls around him, Harry said, "The term isn't over, Hermione. She'll have to stay here and go back to class."

Looking incredulously at Harry, and then at the burnt and pockmarked walls around them, Hermione answered, "Harry, do you honestly think that the school is going to stay open? McGonagall is sending everyone their belongings and closing the school on Friday. They need to repair the castle and hire a few new professors before they can reopen in September."

Blinking, Harry finally took in the damage that had been done to the first real home he had ever known. Feeling foolish, he could only muster a one-word response. "Oh."

They stood, and began to make their way back to where the Weasleys were waiting. When they reached the door, Harry caught sight of Ron first, casting worried looks towards Hermione. A thought occurred to Harry just then, and he asked the question that had been in the back of his mind since the afternoon before. "Say, Hermione, if Ron is sleeping in your room, how exactly are you getting him past that damn staircase?"

A very un-Hermione-ish giggle was her initial response, and turning slightly pink, she answered. "Well, if you must know, Kreacher has been apparating Ron up to my room."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. "Kreacher? _My_ Kreacher?" It was taking most of his mental capacity to wrap his mind around the concept that the old house elf, who had been raised to hate all non-purebloods, would be voluntarily aiding Ron and Hermione in their nightly trysts.

Hermione also chose this moment to halt, and spoke up. "Speaking of which, Harry," she said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about Kreacher. Now that the war is over, there's no risk in setting him free. Why are you still keeping him?" She didn't entirely succeed in keeping the note of accusation from her voice.

Harry shrugged, recalling a conversation with Ron the morning before. "You know, Hermione, Ron already suggested it to me."

She looked pleased at the news, but became slightly annoyed when Harry resumed his walk to the table. "And?" she prompted.

"And nothing, Hermione." Harry said, slightly exasperated. "I offered, and Kreacher refused. Said he was too old an elf to start taking payment, and if I set him free, he would choose to stay with me, anyway."

Hermione blinked in surprise. Clearly the idea of such a choice hadn't occurred to her. Neville, who had heard this last as the pair drew closer to the table, chose to quip, "He's right, Hermione. I've never seen someone give their elves choices before, but Harry lets Kreacher make his own choices." He smiled at the memory of the Sunday morning a few days previously when he had met Kreacher. "Hell, the only reason Kreacher is still at Hogwarts rather than going home is because he _chose_ to stay near Harry."

Most of the Weasleys, who could now hear the conversation, looked rather impressed. Harry shuffled his feet in embarrassment; Percy, of all people, looked awestruck, and in fact seemed borderline worshipful of Harry. Coming from someone who had once decried Harry as mentally unstable, Harry felt more than the usual amount of discomfort.

Ginny noticed this and stood up, striding to her boyfriend and taking his hands. When he looked in her eyes, she decided to comfort him in the best way she knew, by catching his lips with hers, briefly forgetting that her entire family was present.

Several audible gasps broke their reverie, and it immediately became clear that the Weasley clan were not the only ones watching the couple; the entire Great Hall had fallen silent. Mr. Weasley and Fleur were doing their best to look unconcerned, Mrs. Weasley looked torn between joy and terror, George actually looked alive for once, and Neville, Hermione, and Ron looked like they were about to explode in hysterical laughter. Almost everyone else simply looked like they had been beaten over the head in one manner or another.

Several teenage girls ― most of whom Harry couldn't even begin to name ― looked either ready to break into tears, or were staring murderously at Ginny. Even more uncomfortably for Harry, several adult witches had similar expressions, and, now that he looked more closely, so did one or two of the wizards. It was Neville who broke the silence.

"You two never could keep a secret for long."

A large portion of those present chuckled, and then ― likely to the surprise of every single person present ― George stood up and addressed the room.

"Alright, you lot, back to your breakfasts! No point in spoiling this joyous occasion with gaping onlookers!"

He sat back down, finally reaching out and pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Taking a sip, he began piling food on his plate, glancing over at Harry and Ginny, both looking as shocked as the rest of the family. Smiling brightly, tears falling softly from his eyes, he graced the young couple with what could only be described as a fond look before speaking to them.

"Lovely day for it."

* * *

While the funeral itself was subdued, the reception afterwards could only be described as 'raucous'. There seemed to be a common consensus that Fred Weasley's death should be treated much as his life had been; with no seriousness whatsoever. George was surrounded by a small crowd, and was merrily telling and retelling tales of their exploits, with Lee Jordan standing by to help whenever the surviving twin reached a point in his stories where he would break into tears. Lee would then take over until George had recovered and taken over the story as if nothing had happened. Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson were sitting behind him, clearly unwilling to let him out of their supervision.

Standing at the edge of the large tent, Harry was sure he saw Verity, Fred and George's employee at Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, weaving her way about the crowd, holding a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey and singing some raunchy song that she almost certainly learned from her employers. Behind Harry, the Burrow stood, looking as disheveled and lopsided as ever, but seemingly untouched by the war. He knew that this wasn't the case; Bill, Fleur, and Charlie had been here for the better part of four days repairing the damage done to the building by the frequent searches done to the place over the preceding five weeks since the Weasleys had left.

Ginny came up beside him, leaning against his side and throwing her arms around him. Her eyes were completely dry; she had done her crying at the service itself, and, just as at Dumbledore's funeral, she was now defiantly looking up at her boyfriend, clearly more concerned for him than herself, despite it having been _her_ brother they had just buried. Harry knew why; even in the state that Ginny had been in over the previous three days, she could not have failed to notice what everyone else had.

The Boy-Who-Lived was rapidly turning into a serious drunk.

After every funeral prior to the service for Remus and Tonks, Harry had immediately found the nearest alcohol ― usually aided by Ron, who would keep Hermione at bay long enough for Harry to slip off with the bottle ― and crawl inside it. The day before, however, he was unable to begin his ritual post-funeral binge due to getting into a shouting match with Ginny ― followed by getting into bed with her.

Today, however, Harry had not touched so much as a glass of wine. Despite having buried his father's last close friend, the young witch who had made that man happy, and a young man whom Harry himself trusted and respected, all in rapid succession, Harry himself finally had a reason to live. Thinking this, he wrapped an arm around Ginny and pulled her closer.

"Potter!"

Harry and Ginny turned towards the sound, surprised to see Justin Finch-Fletchley walking towards them. Harry smiled and took the Hufflepuff's proffered hand. "Harry, I haven't had the chance to say this yet, but thank you. Without you, I would still be hiding in Romania."

Ginny spoke up, voicing her surprise. "You were in Romania?"

Justin nodded, but another voice answered. "Of course, didn't you know?"

Hermione walked up, holding a glass of red wine and looking decidedly cheerful. On her left she was helping support a slightly-tipsy Ron. "Justin here followed Charlie into the battle leading a group of muggleborns that he had organized."

Harry looked back at Justin with newfound awe and respect. He stuck his hand again, and this time shook Justin's with far more vigor. "We should be thanking you, Justin." The other boy tried to look contrite, but failed utterly; the pride was too evident in his face.

"How did you even _know_ Charlie?" Ginny asked.

"Actually," Justin answered, "I didn't. I used to go into this wizarding bar in Mangalia, under glamour charms of course, just to collect intelligence, and one day I hear a British accent." He took a deep swallow of his mead before continuing. "Well hell, I was terrified. I figured the Death Eaters had found us. So I pull out my wand, ready to stun whoever it was and tear off running, when I see this crop of bright red hair at the bar. And I find myself thinking, 'This has got to be a Weasley.' Sure, I'd never met Charlie, nor seen him, nor ever even heard of him, but I had to take the risk."

"Good thing you did, too," Ron said. "Without the Misters, we would have had a hell of a time fighting them off."

A look of confusion crossed Harry's face. "Misters?"

Hermione and Ron chuckled, and Justin answered, "It was sort of a joke. The group I formed was the 'MR', you know, sort of a code name, like 'DA', but people kept calling us 'the Misters', playing off the abbreviation. In the end, it stuck."

"And what does 'MR' actually stand for."

Justin puffed up with pride, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione wearing a similar smile. The Hufflepuff answered. "We named ourselves 'the Mudblood Resistance'."

Both of Harry's eyebrows shot into his hairline in surprise. Hermione, apparently, wasn't the only one who had decided to turn the racial slur into a source of perverse pride.

"Mr. Potter."

The five teenagers turned towards the authoritarian voice, and were confronted by the uncharacteristically smiling face of Minerva McGonagall. Nonetheless, all of them felt their posture instinctively straighten out at her presence. "I'm glad to see you without a bottle in your hand this time, Harry."

Harry was somewhat surprised at McGonagall's peculiar greeting, and he looked around at the others, surprised to see all of them chuckling. "Why is everyone so concerned about my drinking habits lately?" he burst out.

It was Ron who answered first. "Harry, after Nott's funeral on Tuesday, you drank Slughorn under the table."

A surprised expression was Harry's immediate reply to this, followed by a confused question. "I did?"

"Yes Harry," Ginny said, squeezing his hand. "I'm glad to have you back to normal."

"Well, folks," Justin said, standing, "If you'll excuse me..."

"Wait a second, Justin," Harry said, "You should stick around a moment." Looking around, he caught a familiar tall black figure in the crowd, and called out, "Oi! Dean!"

The other boy made his way over, looking at the strange assemblage. When he reached them, Harry looked at Professor McGonagall. "Professor, I haven't mentioned this to anyone else yet, but I wanted them here when I asked you about it. I was wondering," he looked at the assembled faces, most of whom were looking at him in askance, except for Hermione, who had clearly figured out Harry's question and looked both apprehensive and excited.

Harry took a breath and started over. "I was wondering, Professor," he said, "If anyone who missed their seventh year could come back to Hogwarts if they wanted to."

There was a little yelp of joy from Ginny, who hugged Harry tightly at the prospect of having him back at the school with her, not to mention in the same year. Justin and Dean both looked surprised, and Ron seemed surprisingly excited at the prospect, though not quite mirroring the apprehensive bliss of Hermione's expression.

Minerva McGonagall's face brightened. "I must say, Mr. Potter," she said, "I've never had a student read my mind quite so thoroughly." She smiled at the surprised expressions that all of the students gave her. "I came over here with just such a proposal. Indeed, I would be delighted to have all of you return to school. Certain accommodations will be made, of course, for the abnormally large seventh year. I will be speaking to the Board of Governors, but considering your ages, we will probably allow you to return home on weekends if you so desire."

Ginny spoke up first. "What about the rest of the seventh years, Professor? Will we be able to leave on weekends, too?"

McGonagall chuckled, sounding for all the world like a female version of Albus Dumbledore when he found something amusing. "We'll see, Miss Weasley, but I wouldn't get your hopes up."

Ginny looked mildly mutinous, but didn't push the point. Hermione disengaged her hand from Ron's, and did something that surprised everyone; She hugged McGonagall. The older woman smiled and returned the gesture, looking at Harry. "Thank you." Seeing his look of embarrassment, she looked at the rest of the students as well.

"Thank you all."

* * *

After the guests had departed, Harry found himself in a place he had often been sure he would never find himself in again; sitting at the Burrow's kitchen table, surrounded by the Weasleys. George sat beside Percy, resting his head on his older brother's shoulder, clearly both emotionally and physically exhausted. Bill and Fleur leaned against the counter, holding each other closely. Ron sat with Hermione perched on his lap, and Ginny was beside Harry on the other side of the table. At the head of the table, Charlie sat in conversation with his father, and Molly Weasley was bustling over the stove, having refused all assistance. Harry couldn't help but notice that she kept casting worried glances at the two younger couples. Something seemed to imply that they were about to receive a lecture on propriety.

Harry's guess wasn't entirely correct, but he wasn't far off, either. Mrs. Weasley hurried about the table, laying down plates of scones and filling everyone's tea, before finally sitting herself down, looking extraordinarily frazzled. Taking a sip, she looked over to Harry and Ginny first, and said, "So, you two, when did this happen?"

If there was any accusation in her question, she managed to keep it entirely out of her tone. Unfortunately for the couple, any attempts they were going to make at coming up with a plausible story were promptly wrecked by the amused snort from Ron. "Which time?"

There was a soft smacking sound under the table, accompanied by an irritated look from Hermione, and Ron immediately realized what he had said. Turning several shades of crimson, he averted his eyes from the piercing gaze of his sister, who answered, "Really, Mum, it's not as bad as_Ronald_ makes it sound." Finally turning away from Ron, she looked at her mother. "Harry and I dated for several weeks before Dumbledore died, but he broke it off at the funeral in a somewhat foolish attempt to 'protect' me."

Harry was somewhat surprised that she had never mentioned their previous relationship to her parents before, but in retrospect, he supposed it made sense. After all, it hadn't lasted long.

Mrs. Weasley chuckled, and said, "Yes, dear, we know about that. I meant when did you stop treating each other like the remains of a hippogriff's breakfast and put things to rights."

Harry and Ginny were stunned, and it was clear that Ron felt the same way. For some reason, all Harry could think about was the idea of Mrs. Weasley using an analogy involving a hippogriff. Hermione, meanwhile, was trying to hold in her giggles (and failing), and pretty much everyone else was looking somewhat smug, save Percy, who was watching the whole scene with a certain studious interest.

It was Mr. Weasley who kindly addressed the pair. "Ginny, dear, ignoring the fact that your mother and I actually witnessed you together last year, we would have known anyway; the manner in which you, um... initiated your relationship was somewhat public."

Both Harry and Ginny turned the same color as Ron, and Harry asked, "Is there anyone in the wizarding world who _didn't_ know about us?"

Nine voices replied simultaneously to his question, rather throwing him off-balance. "No."

Incredulity reigned inside Harry, and Percy said, "You're Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake. Everyone knew what you were doing at any time. I had to put up with an hour of questioning from the Minister himself about my little sister just because she was dating you." A contemplative look crossed his features, and his voice sounded distant. "Come to think on it, that's when I started to consider that maybe my job wasn't all I had hoped for."

Ron graced his best friend with a smug expression. "I told you that trying to protect her was a stupid idea, mate."

"My poor Gabrielle was 'eartbroken," Fleur said. "Ever since zee lake, all she 'as talked about is zee famous 'arry Potter, and zen you go off and date my seester-in-law. Of course, Gabrielle ees only eleven, but you try explaining zat to 'er."

"Yeah, Harry has that effect on little girls," George said, nudging Ginny, who promptly hit him across the back of the head.

Mrs. Weasley decided to regain control of the situation. "Yes, yes. Stop tormenting your poor sister. But the point is, when did you two start dating this time?"

Harry's mind froze, and all he could think of was the image of Ginny, very naked in his dormitory the night before. His girlfriend, luckily, had more sense of control, particularly when it came to her own mother. "That's why we weren't at most of the reception yesterday, Mum." She threw a pointed look at Hermione. "_Somebody_ decided that we should stop avoiding each other and work out what everyone else apparently already knew." Her eyes softened, and she reached across the table to lay her hand on Hermione's. "Thank you, by the way."

The older girl smiled. "Anytime."

Charlie cleared his throat. "This is all very touching, but I think there's a greater concern here; namely, that Harry hurt Ginny very badly." He turned towards the savior of the wizarding world, and did his best to look threatening ― which, for a man who handled dragons for a living, wasn't terribly difficult. "What are your intentions towards my little sister, Mr. Potter?"

A couple of protesting noises came from various family members, but Harry stood his ground. "Seriously? I love her, I don't see anyone trying to kill her anymore, and I'm not about to leave her again just because one of her brothers threatens me with bodily harm. I've already come back to life once; I reckon I could do it again."

A couple of gasps were his response, and Ginny actually looked slightly angry, though she seemed conflicted in whether she was going to direct that anger towards her boyfriend or her brother. The two men stared defiantly at each other for several long seconds, and Mrs. Weasley looked very much like she wanted to intervene. Before she made a move however, Charlie did something that no one quite expected.

He broke into raucous laughter.

Collapsing back into his chair, Charlie wiped a tear from his eye, and looked up at the very perplexed Harry. "Well I will be buggered," he said, "I'd say that'll about cover it, Potter. If you've got the guts to deal with Ginny's temper, I'd say you're tough enough to love her. You've got my blessing."

Harry smiled, taking Charlie's proffered hand. He sat down, and Ginny threw her arms around him. Finally, he managed to define that new feeling that had graced him since the night before, when she had professed her love for him.

For the first time in his entire life, Harry Potter felt safe.

* * *

Everyone slept at the Burrow that night, glad to be under the same roof again. The next morning, Harry awoke far earlier than usual, to find himself staring up at Ron's ceiling. Sitting up, he was surprised to see Ron was already awake, sitting in bed reading his tattered copy of _Flying with the Cannons_ for what had to be the hundredth time. The tall redhead looked over at his best friend, whose features were sharply illuminated by the sunlight just starting to stream in the windows. "Couldn't sleep either?"

Harry shook his head, sitting up and putting his glasses on. "I don't get it. I slept fine last night."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You know, Hermione is right, you can be kind of thick sometimes," Ron said.

Harry glowered at him. "That's rich, coming from you."

Ron smiled. "Alright, so I know more about 'thick' than anyone," he replied. "But it's obvious why we couldn't sleep; neither of is used to sleeping alone anymore."

Harry considered this thought somewhat odd, as he had only shared a bed with Ginny for one night, but he decided not to argue the point. "Look, Ron, if you're asking me to crawl into bed with you, I'm flattered, but..."

His words were cut off by the pillow hitting his face.

Laughing, he got out of bed, and then got a contemplative expression on his face. Something occurred to him about Ron's attitude, both now and the night before. "Ron, does this mean that you're alright with Ginny and I now?"

Ron also got out of bed, pocketing his wand. "Well, I'll still hex your bits off if you screw up, but other than that, yeah, I think I can live with this. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details, ok?"

Harry smiled. "Likewise."

Ron looked around the room and shrugged. "No point is sticking around here. No one else will be up, but let's go down and put the kettle on or something."

Following Ron out the door, Harry spoke softly as they walked down the stairs. "Why don't we just start breakfast?"

The redhead graced him with a skeptical expression, and Harry remembered what Ron's cooking was like. He immediately amended, "Ok, why don't _I_ just start breakfast?"

"Well," Ron replied, "It's your funeral if mum decides to get territorial about her kitchen."

The two chuckled as they entered the kitchen, and immediately stopped dead. There was a small gasp of surprise, and Hermione and Ginny stopped what they were doing. Harry looked around the kitchen and immediately realized that the pair were already getting ingredients out to start making breakfast themselves.

Harry spoke first. "Let me guess. Couldn't sleep?"

Both girls smirked, and Ginny gestured to Hermione. "She suggested we come down and start breakfast. You?"

Walking to Hermione, Ron jerked a thumb in Harry's direction. "Same."

Ginny craned her neck up to kiss Harry, and then asked, "Wait, you can cook?"

Harry did his best to look mock-offended, but it was Ron who answered, "Harry's a pretty good cook. Been doing it his whole life."

Harry decided not to answer Ginny's inquiring look just now, and asked Hermione, "So, where were we?"

Hermione gestured to the kettle, which was already on the stove. "We actually just got started. Ginny tried to warn me off, though. Something about Mrs. Weasley being 'territorial'."

Harry looked at Ron, who was smirking. "Gee, that sounds familiar."

Over the next several minutes, the four made a very good breakfast, though Ron was really of very little help. Harry was just wiping a bit of flour off of Ginny's nose when a voice came from the door. "And what, may I ask, is going on here?"

All four spun around and froze, the two youngest Weasleys looking somewhat guilty. Molly Weasley was standing in the doorway, looking around the kitchen and sniffing the air suspiciously. Hermione made a decision; "Tea, Mrs. Weasley?"

The Weasley matriarch looked at the young witch for a moment, and then finally nodded, moving towards her seat. "Thank you, Hermione. This all smells lovely."

Ron and Ginny's shoulders slumped in relief, and Harry went to the stove to grab the eggs. Behind him, he heard Mrs. Weasley speak again.

"As long as you lot don't make a habit of it."

* * *

After the breakfast was concluded, the entire family solemnly gathered around another pair of Death Eater's masks that had been charmed as portkeys, all dressed in austere dress robes. They had one last funeral to attend, and everyone had mixed feelings about it. They were going to Spinner's End to bury Severus Snape.

Shortly after speaking to Dumbledore's portrait after the battle, Harry, Ron, and Hermione led Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, Sprout, and Flitwick to the Shrieking Shack to retrieve Snape's body. Several students had watched apprehensively as they brought him back into the Great Hall and laid him down beside Remus Lupin. It had taken Harry fifteen minutes to quiet all the objections and explain why Snape deserved to be there.

The eleven of them arrived at Spinner's End, Snape's house in Surrey, only a few kilometers from Little Winging. From what Harry had learned, Snape's parents had lived in the house, and his least favorite professor had been raised there. He knew that it meant that his mother and aunt must have grown up nearby, but he had no idea where. Briefly, Harry felt a brief stab of curiosity, and wondered where the Dursleys were now.

As they walked towards the Prince family plot where Snape was to be buried, Harry scanned the assembled faces with a certain feeling of disappointment. Most of the surviving Hogwarts professors were there, along with several members of the Order and several surviving Slytherins, but the service was still by far the smallest he had attended. He felt a stab of anger that people would avoid the funeral of a brave man based merely on their perceptions during his life.

The ceremony itself was as meaningless as any that preceded it, and Harry found himself wondering what Snape would have said to the graying little wizard who was currently droning on about "higher duty" and "ultimate sacrifice". He guessed that it would probably involve a few choice words about weak-mindedness.

Harry tried to hide the smirk that was threatening to force itself onto his features, deciding that many of the attendees might take it the wrong way. Instead, he found himself scanning the crowd, and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy also clearly not listening, and possibly fighting a smile of his own.

Harry stared at Malfoy for some time, wondering what was going through the blond boy's mind right now. Malfoy had perhaps suffered as much as anyone else in the war, and more than most, with the notable exception being the man currently being laid to rest. Harry knew that someday he would have to have a long conversation with Draco, and figure out just where the Slytherin stood.

People began to disperse, and he felt Ginny's hand squeezing his. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that it would be a very long time before he had to face another funeral. As he began to walk away, a deep voice called out his name.

Harry turned around to find himself looking at Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Kingsley... Minister. It's good to see you."

"Kingsley, please, Harry," the new Minister of Magic said, shaking Harry's hand. "I think we're rather beyond titles, don't you?"

The younger wizard raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If you insist."

Shacklebolt fell in to walk beside Harry and Ginny, and said, "Harry, I know you are not someone who is entirely comfortable with his own fame, but the Ministry wishes to award you with the Order of Merlin, First Class."

Harry stopped dead, trying to ignore the smile that was forming on Ginny's face. Thinking that he probably should have seen this coming, he wished that he had spent some time coming up with a better way to reject the offer. "Kingsley, do you really think I've earned all that? I mean, I cast a disarmament spell."

Chuckling, Kingsley laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "As a matter of fact, Harry, I don't think you do deserve it." Ginny's face looked momentarily furious, but Kingsley continued. "The Order of Merlin has been given for far lesser deeds than the one which you have performed. Somehow, it seems... insufficient. But it's what we can offer."

Harry was trying to move through the haze that had formed in his mind, and managed to stammer out, "What about everyone else? There were a lot of people who fought Voldemort, and a lot of them died doing it," he concluded, pointing over his shoulder at Snape's grave.

Kingsley nodded. "That's true. Orders of Merlin, Second and Third class will be awarded to many people in the coming weeks, and regrettably, some of those will be posthumous honors."

Harry shook his head. "That's not good enough. Some of them deserve far more than that. If you're going to insist on giving me this award, then you'll have to give the same award to all the ones who did as much or more than I did."

Shacklebolt smiled. "The last time Remus and I spoke to Dumbledore," he said, "he told us you would say exactly that when we reached this point. Let me guess; you'll also want one large ceremony for everyone, so you're not singled out?"

Harry had indeed been preparing to say just that, and was beginning to wonder what else Albus Dumbledore said about him. "Um, yeah."

Nodding, the Minister said, "We'll talk about the details later. We'll probably try to do it all on June ninth, make it an even month after the battle. For now, I think you should go home. You have the better part of a year to catch up on, I believe."

Smiling, Harry pulled Ginny closer, and Kingsley walked off, chuckling to himself before apparating away.

Hermione and Ron appeared, and Hermione looked at the space where Shacklebolt had just vanished. "What was that about?"

Harry shook his head. "I'll tell you later." Glancing at Ron, he asked Hermione, "Did you tell him yet?"

"Tell me what?"

Hermione shook her head, knowing Harry was referring to the retrieval of her parents. "Did you tell Ginny yet?"

The shorter redhead looked up at her boyfriend inquiringly. "Harry?"

Harry and Hermione smiled to each other, and Harry asked, "What do you say the four of us take a little vacation?"


End file.
